


Road to Redemption

by Destiny111



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:54:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29014674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destiny111/pseuds/Destiny111
Summary: Laila Vikander is an American Muggleborn witch struggling to balance her identity between two worlds. Her life turns upside down when the Marriage Law gets delivered her doorstep and sends her across the pond.Post-Wizarding War, Fred Weasley lives.
Relationships: Fred Weasley/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

She sat staring out through the window. Snow had blanketed the entire grass behind her apartment just that morning before melting into a slushy mess. The cold New England weather was no match for the blazing sun that had poked its fingers out the grey clouds for the first time this month. The pond behind her building was a mess, filled with large chunks of ice floating in lonely islands and surrounded by the brown water that raised its head every so often when a breeze blew by. Even the animals noticed the difference. Several geese had flown on the islands and rested there, preening their feathers and opening their beaks, drinking in the warmth of winter before it faded into a dull darkness. The muskrat that only poked its head out at the first signs of spring was scavenging through the cattails, trekking mud in its wake. 

Laila watched all of this, seeing but not processing. The Kite Runner remained open on her lap, flipped to the last page as she absorbed the information about a country that had changed so much in such a short amount of time. Her light blue eyes were a sharp contrast against her olive skin. Many times, people had questioned her on her authenticity as a “true Indian-American,” only for her to explain that blue eyes were not that uncommon among South Asians. 

In her short twenty three years of life, Aziza had grown up with her parents always making sure she and her older sisters never forgot their heritage. Trips to India were a must each summer, from walking through the streets of Mumbai for food to visiting the farmlands of Punjab. Her father had one simple rule: when you take off your shoes in the house, you take your English off with you. Aziza smiled fondly, remembering her annoyance at having to switch between Punjabi, Hindi, and Urdu when speaking with her parents. Couple that with the fact her father was a linguistics professor and made sure his daughters appreciated the languages and cultures of other countries. Her oldest sister Jacqueline had picked up on Russian and moved to St. Petersburg to pursue her career in medicine and help the underserved in the urban neighborhoods. Her next older sister Aziza had fallen in love with medicine, just her luck, and moved to the rural Midwest to set up practice in a small town where there was only one family medicine physician close to retirement. Granted, that tiny community was surprised when a young Indian-American woman showed up at their doorstep, but grew to accept her enthusiasm and a genuine desire to serve the community as a sign of sincere dedication. 

So when Laila came along and got her letter from Ilvermorny, her entire Muggle family was surprised, but pleased to discover an entirely new world existing not far from their own. Ilvermorny was the first place she felt she belonged, taking joy in favorite classes, including Ancient Runes and History of Magic, and learning to tolerate Astronomy and Divinations. The stars were just balls of gas in her eyes, and the concept of being able to predict the future based on tea leaf patterns was too ridiculous in her mind. Inferences were educated guesses that had to be rooted in hard facts and evidence, not wishy washy dream journals and predictions. It came as a surprise to no one in her family when she chose Law as her final career, choosing to attend Harvard and getting her JD at the young age of 17 as she finished her years in Ilvermorny. No one said it would be easy, but it was a distraction from her mother’s untimely death and grounded her. Her mother came from a long line of family members who served and died fighting for Indian independence. In her mother’s and grandmother’s eyes, nothing came before their country, not even themselves. Laila took that mantra to heart, choosing to become a prosecutor and train as an Auror to serve her country and her people. The magical world enveloped her, and she fought to prove herself as a worthy witch in a world where blood status was considered more important. The Wizarding War had her terrified for her family; hiding was not an option. She had fought and risen above it, but not without scars, some seen others not. Laila’s hand rested tentatively over her abdomen where a large scar rested, and she shuddered at the memory of its origin.

“Ready to leave, honey?” The voice jerked Laila out of her thoughts as her father’s face came into her view. 

“That can be answered in many ways, Baba,” Laila smiled, “but considering I’m an employee of MACUSA, I can’t just ignore the law and not follow through with it.”

“You could always approach the Pope for a petition, we are Catholics after all,” her father said, his eyes twinkling.

“Oh that will go well-did you know there is a world out there filled with magic and witches, and drowning us or burning us at the stake won’t eradicate it?-Sheesh.”

Her eyes glanced over to the letter resting on her dresser

Dear Laila Vikander,

The devastations caused by the Second Wizarding War have greatly impacted both the population of our community and our approach to wizards and witches of different blood statuses. To better integrate these differences, the Ministry of Magic and the Magical Congress of the United States of America have decided to enact a Marriage Law to integrate and preserve our community. With your Muggleborn status, you have been matched to a wizard of Pureblood status in the hopes your offspring will bring a brighter future to our world.

You have been assigned to:  
Mr. Fred Weasley

Please contact him at your earliest convenience to determine your living arrangements. Your marriage will be scheduled at the end of this year, December 31, 2000. Best wishes for a brighter future.

With Regards,  
Kingsley Shacklebolt  
Minister of Magic

Amused, Laila’s father glanced at his youngest daughter. “You’re almost five months older than your husband-to-be. And born on Friday, November 13. Let’s hope his luck is better than mine has been.”

“Funny, Dad,” Laila replied drily, with a touch of sadness underneath her sarcastic bite. Fred had been kind in the few letters they had exchanged, but with just three weeks left for them to get married and only six weeks since the official letter had arrived, it was barely enough time to get to know someone, let alone get married to them! In their discussions, Laila had decided to shift to England, knowing her fiance owned a joke shop of some sorts in the famous Diagon Alley. The Minister of Magic had been more than happy to hire her as a prosecutor, elated her almost 94% conviction rate. But it wasn’t the transfer that bothered her much as leaving her country of birth to travel to a completely new place. For the first time, she felt the pain and excitement her parents must have felt when they left India to settle in America for hopes of a better future and life for themselves and their children. 

Sensing her mood, her father placed a hand on his head. “I forget sometimes how much like your mother you are, calm on the surface, but hiding so much underneath. She always used to say she hoped you would find someone to keep you grounded and someone that would be able to see you beyond the lawyer thirsty for justice. She would be so proud of you and how far you’ve come. And if he doesn’t treat you right, remember a phone call across the pond is much faster than any magical owl you have.”

Bursting into laughter, Laila hugged her dad, savoring the last few hours she would have with them. In the morning, she would be taking a portkey to her new London flat and visiting the famous Weasleys Wizard Wheezes.

I wonder if he feels as apprehensive as I am right now.


	2. Chapter 2

Laila’s alarm never ended up going off. Instead, she woke up to the sound of her father’s voice, pulling her away from a dream she never was going to remember.

“Wake up, sleepyhead! I made blueberry pancakes! Probably the last time you’ll be treated to an actual American breakfast before you’re eating blood sausages and haggis.”

“Baba, everyone in our family only eats poultry and seafood. And I don’t think haggis is a traditional breakfast dish. It’s Scottish,” Laila groaned, wrenching her covers from her dad’s hands and burying her face underneath her pillows.

“It’s 4 in the morning. My portkey is at 5 AM, and I packed everything already. I only need 20 minutes to get ready, so can I please go back to sleep?”

“Not before you put something in your stomach! I don’t want you getting nauseous on the way there.” Her dad coaxed her out of bed and started pushing her into the kitchen.

“Wouldn’t it make more sense to travel on an empty stomach so I don’t puke my guts out?”

“Tut tut, darling. Looks like our grumpy girl needs some coffee before her grouchiness wears off. Here’s your lovely black version of coffee, though I got to say it’s way too bitter drinking it like this. Add some cream or sugar to jazz it up for once.”

Laila smiled and set down her cup. “And limit the personality of the coffee? Adding sweet stuff to it is pointless. If you want to drink coffee, drink it in it’s true state, bitterness and all. Or as Aziza didi says, I drink it black to sustain the darkness of her soul.”

“Finally, there’s my sarcastic chirpy girl.” Her dad set a plate of pancakes with syrup in front of her before taking a seat across the table. Laila looked up from her plate, watching as her father rubbed his forehead and pushed back the dark hair that was now beginning to tinge with swirls of grey and white. 

Catching his daughter’s eye, he grinned. “Did I ever tell you about the time when your mother and I went to meet her new boss and his wife for breakfast? They offered us coffee and tea, and because I wanted something different, I asked for coffee. Of course they asked black or white, but we north Indians drink our coffee filled with milk and sugar. I had never heard of coffee being described as a color. So I asked for black since it sounded safer.”

Laila laughed, shaking her head. “God, I remember you telling me this. And then you had your first taste of bitter black coffee but still drank the whole thing to be polite.”

Her dad joined in her laughter. As their chuckles quieted down, a silence lingered in the room before he spoke again.

“When your mother passed away, I knew I would never have to worry about you or your sisters. It’s hard being far away from all of you, especially with Jackie and now you living across the world. But you’ve all grown to be independent and strong women, moving forward in your careers and following your dreams.”

“I don’t think I ever told you, but when your mother and I read your first letter from Ilvermorny and then that school official who came to explain everything to us-”  
He paused for a second and ran his hand through his hair before continuing.

“It was a shock to learn so suddenly about this new world and now you’re being married off to some young man living on the other side of the globe because the magical government decrees it. It’s...it’s a lot, but we never worried about you because you’re strong, so much like your mother and grandmother. You have that strength that led you to seek a career in law enforcement and get justice for those who no longer have a voice for themselves.”

Laila squeezed her father’s hand as he laughed and shook his head at his rambling. “I think I was just hoping for some more time before I would have to say good-bye to my youngest daughter.”  
“Aww, Dad. You know I’m only a phone call away, and I will be constantly bothering you every few weeks to eat your food and listen to your lame jokes.”

He glared up at his daughter’s twinkling eyes.

“First of all, my jokes are not lame. They are clever puns carefully constructed based on my knowledge of other cultures and topics. And second, they’re called dad jokes for a reason.”

All Laila did was give a watery smile and she stood up to give her father one last hug

************************************************************************************************************************************************************************* 

The wind whipped her hair, obscuring her face like a black cloud. Great, now I have my own personal eclipse. Laila pulled out her hair tie and pushed her hair back to survey the busy London street. Muggle London was full of cobblestones and coffee shops. At 10 AM on a Friday morning, it was busy with people milling around, going to work and meetings, and making plans for the weekend. 

Most of her stuff had arrived the week prior in her new London apartment, sorry flat now that she would be living in England. She wheeled her suitcase with one hand and latched on to her bag containing her identification papers, wand, purse, and other knick-knacks. And snacks, especially snacks. Laila never went anywhere without some kind of food, after all you never know when hunger would be knocking at your door. 

She walked a few blocks before reaching her new building. The key jammed in the knob twice before turning open to reveal an airy flat that smelled faintly of mothballs. Boxes and covered furniture were strewn across the room and dust littered the wooden floor.

“Well, thank goodness I can do wandless and wordless magic. And considering this is Muggle London, here’s to the hope of not having to use Gilderoy Lockhart’s Guide to Household Pests.” Rolling up her sleeves, Laila set her bags down with a thump and went to work.

Eight hours later and after a quick trip to the grocery store, Laila slumped down on her newly cleaned couch, closing her eyes for a brief moment before opening them and freezing when her gaze landed on the fridge. Oh shit I forgot to clean the damn fridge!

Groaning, she dragged herself up from the couch and opened the fridge door, ready for some wandless magic to get rid of unwanted stench. To Laila’s surprise, the fridge was perfectly clean, except for a bottle pushed back in the furthest corner. Reaching her fingers forward, she grasped at the neck of the bottle and pulled it out, setting it on the counter to inspect later while she got back to her cleaning. With a few flicks of her hand, her fridge was clean and all of the groceries arranged in neat piles and stacks.

“No Mr. Clean or wand necessary,” she chuckled to herself. Pivoting on the balls of her feet, she turned to grab the bottle and when the label caught her gaze. Smirnoff, a cheap American vodka logo plastered on the center of the bottle. Breathing shallowly, Laila wrenched open the half-empty bottle and dumped its contents into the kitchen sink before tossing the bottle into recycling. Grabbing a sponge and dish soap, she set to work scrubbing the kitchen sink. In and out, in and out, she kept chanting in her head. Her hands turned raw and tore under her scrutiny as she furiously scoured the insides of the sink, even long after the smell of vodka was gone. At last she stopped, dumping the sponge in the sink before rushing to the bathroom.

Dry heaving, she gazed at her face, and the first thing that she noticed was her hair was now much below her shoulders. Taking the inky, wavy strands between her fingers, she tugged on them hard, watching as their resiliency allowed them to bounce back to their original shape, no matter how hard she straightened them. 

She had always found it interesting that women in movies and television would always crop their hair so short after a traumatic event, always looking in the bathroom mirror with expressions on their faces not much different than her own. But only three years earlier, she had done much of the same thing, all in the name of burying a part of herself that had taken a long time to accept. It had taken longer for her to finally speak of it, then weep, and embrace her changed self. 

A brisk knock on her door wrenched Laila from her thoughts as she hastily wiped her face and walked to the door.

Pausing a few inches away, she heard a few hasty whispers being exchanged, none that completely registered in her brain as actual words before she finally decided to take action. 

“Who is it?” her voice permeating through the now decorated flat.

“Hi! Is this Laila Vikander’s flat?” a chirpy voice on the other side responded.

Curious, Laila opened the door to two young women, not much younger than herself and both looking rather excited and nervous.

“Ginny Weasley,” Laila smiled, “what an honor to finally meet you.”

The red-head blinked in surprise before grinning. “How much has my brother gossiped about me to you?”

Laila laughed, “Considering we have yet to meet in person and the number of letters we’ve exchanged is hardly enough to fill the fingers of one hand, not much. But I am an avid Holyhead Harpies fan.”

Ginny grinned and bounced in the flat, her brunette friend following her. “I got to say, I was intrigued when Fred got assigned to an American, but if you’re a Quidditch fan, then you’re alright with me!”

Laila smiled warmly at her future sister-in-law before turning to greet Ginny’s friend, who had already beat her to the punch by extending a hand out.

“Hermione,” she replied simply with a small smile. “Welcome to England. The Muggle part isn’t all that different, but I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised about the magical sides.”

Gesturing, Laila encouraged them to take a seat before slumping on the couch in front of them. 

“Well, ladies? Is this a test to make sure I’m not an evil sociopath about to destroy your brother’s and friend’s life?” Hermione and Ginny exchanged quick looks before grinning.

“Sort of,” Hermione responded. “We were aware you were coming up tomorrow morning to the twins’ shop and wanted to vet you out ahead of time and also get to know the person beyond your writing and work.”

Raising her eyebrows, Laila asked, “My work?”

“Oh don’t get her started, Laila! Hermione is really passionate about rights for houselves, and when she read she prosecuted a case against a pureblood family for mistreating their houself, she would not shut up about it. And that with your advocacy for women’s rights.”

Laila grinned, “I think it helped that I was a Muggleborn. The pureblood defense lawyer kept sputtering when I kept on correcting his interpretation of the law.”

Both girls joined in her laughter.

“Anyways what would you like to drink? I have tea, coffee, and that’s about it for now until I do some more grocery shopping when I’m not ordering takeout and sleeping in my new office.”

“I think you’re going to fit right in with the rest of us,” Ginny smiled.


End file.
